


Got No Time to Slow

by Honeymull



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Light restraint, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeymull/pseuds/Honeymull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or...that time Brandon and Brian crammed into the tiny train bathroom on their way to Philly and Brian had a crick in his neck all night from bending Brandon over the little sink and fucking him in such close quarters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got No Time to Slow

**Author's Note:**

> lol willing suspension of disbelief
> 
> (For Oxidative.)

Brandon has to wheedle and beg Brian to do it in the first place. It takes him throwing himself down in the seat next to Brian with a sigh, leaning in and telling Brian very innocently how he fingered himself open for Brian right before he left, and wouldn't it be a damn shame if Brandon had to go into the little bathroom and jerk off with just his own fingers instead of Brian's dick in his ass? Damn shame.

It's a dirty trick. Brian stays put in his seat, raises his eyebrows (pretends that didn't affect him at all), and makes a shooing motion - "Better get to jerkin' it, then." He waits until Brandon narrows his eyes. " _Fine_ ," and walks off to the bathroom by himself.

Brian makes it about five minutes with his knuckles white on the armrests and his toes curling when he can't help getting hard.

He cracks, though. Of course. Swears really softly under his breath and levers himself up, stalks back to the bathroom and thanks god the rest of the guys are in another car.

Brian yanks open the thin steel door, expecting to see Brandon sitting on the sink with his legs swinging, shit-eating grin and a "Gotcha" first-thing. 

Instead he gets Brandon with his legs spread, leaning against the far wall and squirming on his own fingers, like, well, like he did tell Brian he was going to do. Brian slams the door behind him. " _Brandon_."

Brandon's already halfway gone, but his look of obvious relief at seeing Brian makes Brian kind of feel like shit. Brandon licks his lips twice before he can speak, then says, "Thought you might not come after all." 

And adds, grinning even all flushed and bothered, "Maybe I'll ask Artie next time, if you can't be fucked..."

Brian cuffs him around the neck, hauls him over and puts him facedown over the tiny sink counter. There's nowhere to go but right up against him, and Brian gets his pants shoved out of the way, slung lopsidedly down one thigh. He's able to, fuck, just slide in, Brandon hot and stretched all for him. Brian dips his head to growl against Brandon's ear, "I'm here now, aren't I?"

Brandon groans way louder than is smart, but can't seem to help goading him again. " _Unh_ , I guess. Hard to tell-"

Brian doesn't give him time to think, just leans back far enough that his palm connects solidly with Brandon's flank with a loud smack.

Brandon gasps, jolts forward into the mirror and then back onto Brian's dick immediately after. His head is bowed, damp curls at the nape of his neck the only thing Brian can see above the smooth line of his back.

It's a pretty picture, Brandon folding himself into curvatures for Brian. The line of his neck and the line of his spine are mirror images, and they reflect back in the burnished glass over the sink.

Brian takes an extra moment to admire it, hips quiet and one hand running down the length of Brandon's side, tickling in at his hipbones until Brandon squirms, makes a disgruntled sound.

"Why isn't there fucking?" Brandon finally snaps.

Brian looks at himself in the mirror and sighs, then lets his hand fall again against Brandon's ass, harder this time, and leaving a white imprint that slowly fades pink.

"Ah! Brian-"

Another smack, right over the first one, and Brandon chokes out, " _Stings_."

Brian rubs the wide imprint, digging the heel of his hand into it, into the skin of Brandon's ass. "Don't like it?"

Brandon's silent.

"It's ju -" Brian starts, and Brandon finally lifts his head, glaring at Brian in the mirror. "You finish that with "just pain", and I will show you pain as soon as you sack up and do me."

Brian laughs, and gives Brandon a hard few thrusts just to keep him happy. He likes the way Brandon's eyes slit almost shut with it but don't look away from him in the mirror.

He keeps one big hand planted on the sore spot he'd smacked before, already darkening into a mark. Every other thrust or so, he can't help looking down at it, running his fingers over it compulsively. It looks like it hurts, bright and angry, and he can't stop touching it, tracing around it.

Brandon squirms every time Brian tightens his grip around it, until Brian's holding on to it just to feel the way Brandon moves against it. He's standing still, but Brandon has his eyes closed and works himself back against Brian for a heated few minutes until he realizes Brian's stopped moving. He drops his head.

"We're on a schedule, Brian. You wanna maybe hurry up?"

Brian considers for a moment. "Not really."

"Someone's going to wander by, Brian, seriously, just -"

Sweat drips in Brian's eyes, and he blinks it away, feeling lazy and lethargic and hot, dick buried inside Brandon and his skin prickling everywhere they're touching. It feels like he's burning up, the heat in the cramped space stifling, and he runs his free hand up the sticky length of Brandon's back, nails against his spine.

Brandon whines and presses back, forehead thunking into the mirror. "Please just fuck me. Hit me again, then _fuck_ me, please."

The lethargy dissipates just like that, and Brian's suddenly breathing harder, clenching his hand against the mark on Brandon's hip, steadying them both. He smacks the other side of Brandon's ass with his free hand, and the desperate sound Brandon makes at it has Brian's lip curling up, smug and hot and pleased.

"So _you_ like gettin' spanked," he says, his voice rumbling low around the tiny bathroom. He hits Brandon again, a solid whack that leaves Brian's palm aching.

Brandon hisses through his teeth. "Apparently."

Their time is running out, Brian knows, but most of the guys really aren't going to come back to this car; they're all settled into their own routines and the chance of them breaking habit to wander back here for some reason is slim. They're still going to be missed sooner or later.

It messes with his balance when Brian pushes in hard, and it makes Brandon's eyes slam shut, grunting with the force of it, but Brian uses the depth to firm his stance. He reaches out and pries Brandon's hands off the narrow walls where he'd been bracing himself. Brandon actually tries to twist away, startled, saying, "Hey-"

Brian says, "Shut up," absently, and he hauls Brandon's arms behind Brandon's back, crosses them under Brandon's shoulder blades. He can hold them there easily in one hand, sees where the muscles cord, straining in the uncomfortable position.

He likes it, having Brandon trussed up without rope, still unable to move, still having to trust Brian not to let him go.

"Brian, _Brian_." Brandon's eyes are shut so tight, screwed up so much he looks like he's in pain, except his heartbeat is going crazy under Brian's hand when he slides it around to Brandon's chest, and his cock is hard and tight up against his abdomen when Brian lets his hand wander further down.

He gives it a few tugs, hearty and quick, and Brandon makes a sound like a _sob_ , off-balance and still trying to work himself back on Brian's dick, forehead braced against the mirror, smearing smudges of sweat on it. "Fuck me, fuck me, Brian, Boyler, why aren't you- please just - oh, fuck, _fuck_!"

Brian's palm _hurts_ from how hard he hit Brandon, thrusting in so hard the smack is obscene. He lays a couple more stinging slaps against the sides of Brandon's ass, almost gets bucked off for his trouble when Brandon jerks away from them, just as quickly back into the pain like he can't help it. He whines, butting his head into the mirror and twisting his arms in Brian's grip like he's crazy for it, can't get enough.

It's enough to make Brian forget to be careful. Brandon feels so _good_ under his hands, perfect around his dick, and Brian gives him what he needs, slamming in hard and shoving Brandon against the little sink, watching a mark form on Brandon's forehead, then his cheek, where it hits the mirror on every rough thrust.

The picture Brandon's going to make walking out of here, stumbling and fucked-out and so marked up, bruised and hot-hot-hot all over his body, shit - it lights up loud and and brutal in Brian's mind, and he bites down helplessly on his own bottom lip, driving into Brandon a last few times before gasping for air and losing it, fingers dug ruthlessly into the red imprint on Brandon's ass.

He's still struggling to calm his breathing down when Brandon moans, sounding like he's hurting. Brian curls down against him, puts his face into the curls at the nape of Brandon's neck. "Shut up, shut up, I know, I got you," he murmurs, biting his lip again at aftershocks when he reaches for Brandon and Brandon twitches around Brian's softening dick.

Brian doesn't try anything fancy, just strips Brandon neat and hard, thumb smearing the precome messily into the sweet spot under the head on every upstroke. Brandon's nearly crying for it, hips working and the muscles across his spine straining, like he's almost there but can't quite- and Brian's got him, always has his back.

He finds the first hot mark he made by touch, running the tips of his fingers across it once before firming his hand and slapping it hard, once, then twice, even harder, and Brandon _chokes_ , his whole body tensing up at once before he's coming desperately all over Brian's hand, striping up to his wrist and dribbling down across Brian's fingers.

It shakes him like a dog with a rope for a few long moments, aftershocks rocking him visibly, and Brian backs up with a wince. He keeps one hand on Brandon's back, soothing, while he cleans himself up and hauls his pants back up, awkward one-handed. He manages, flips the first button and doesn't bother zipping up before he's pushing tissues into Brandon's slack hand.

"Gotta hurry, Prusty." It's apologetic and low; all Brian wants to do every time Brandon has an orgasm like this that knocks him out is drag him to the nearest bed and collapse with him until they can't sleep any more.

Brandon blinks a few times at nothing, then heaves a dirty, appreciative sigh. "God. _Jeezus_."

Brian flicks the hand that's still motionless, not making any move to clean himself up. "Come on, man."

"I am, I'm going," Brandon says, trying and failing to muster up a bitchy tone. He just sounds lazy and well-fucked, and Brian's going to have to take one hell of a long, cold shower in order to focus properly on the game tonight.

Brandon gets himself put back together pretty quickly, his previous state considered. Brian leans against the door, slow to buckle his belt as he tracks Brandon wincing when he shimmies back into the pants, scrunching his face up when he rolls the kinks out of his shoulders and rubs at his forehead.

He catches Brian watching him in the mirror. "Roughed me up real nice," he says, eyes soft and amused, holding Brian's gaze.

"Guess I did." Brian threads his belt without looking, slow and deliberate, raising his eyebrows at Brandon in their reflections in a silent question.

"I probably won't ask Artie next time, then." There it is. Brandon's obviously fine, if he's back to being a little shit.

Brian cracks open the door the slightest inch. Hallway's still empty. "Just 'probably'?" he murmurs over his shoulder as he slips out of the bathroom.

Brandon, in a move that earns him a cuffed nape, follows Brian and catches the underside of his jaw in a quick kiss.

"Just probably."

 


End file.
